


Another Crash Landing

by QueerQunari



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Romance, Cyberpunk 2077 Spoilers, F/F, I'll Update As I Go, Other, TBH this is the first fic i've ever posted aasdfghjkl, Unrequited Crush, Yearning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:21:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28907748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueerQunari/pseuds/QueerQunari
Summary: There's a hole where her heart should be and an insufferable voice in her head. Night City had been a blur of mistakes and regret and now, as the clock ticks down, V needs something to make her feel real again. Illegal street races with an attractive woman at her side is a good place to start.
Relationships: Claire Russell/Female V, Panam Palmer/Female V
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45
Collections: Night City Sapphics





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said in my tags, this is the first fic I've ever shared. If it doesn't fail miserably, I might just keep going.  
> First chapter is canon dialogue heavy, but rest assured I will write up some original misery :)
> 
> Title is a reference to Crash by Against Me!

Chapter One: The Beast In Me

“Shut up, Johnny.”  


I crumpled the wrapper and threw it onto the passenger seat. Sure, there was a cyber ghost sitting there, but it wouldn’t exactly land on his lap, now, would it?  
“I’m not the one with a goddamn tampon up my nose,” he snorted, putting his ghost feet on my dash. If only he were real, so I could break his damn legs. Throw his stupid ass boots out the window.  
He did have a point, though. The intimidating, big-bad-dyke look I worked so hard to maintain was sullied by the cotton nugget staunching my bloody nose. The string was tickling my lips. The blood was already starting to crust around my nostril. I rolled my eyes at myself in the rear-view. My freaky yellow eyes and my tampon nose.  
“These things are made to suck up blood, dipshit.” I turned the key in my ignition and the trusty Delemain Jr. rumbled to life. Maybe I shouldn’t swear so much in front (inside, I guess) of my car son. “I’d rather not show up to whatever this job is with more stains on my shirt than necessary.”  
Johnny Silverhand’s stupid, bastard face snorted again. “Pretty sure that one was mayonnaise.”  
“Shut up, Johnny.”

Thankfully, the bleeding had stopped by the time I pulled up to the garage in lil ol’ Santa Domingo. I wrapped the used tampon in a napkin and threw it and the wrapper into a fast-food bag. Then I used another napkin and my spit to clean up my face a little. First – well, second – impressions were important.  
I hadn’t expected Claire to call. Or even remember me, from the one night we had met. I distinctly remember thinking she was hot, but I hadn’t made a move, save for some banter. Too nervous, and Jacky’s charm was more interesting than my fidgety ass. Anxious about the “big leagues” and all that other delusional shit.  
I’m such a fuckin’ gonk.  
But whatever. Claire’s invitation to meet was a welcome distraction to the gaping hole in my heart and the various cyberpsycho encounters I had been actively engaging with for Regina. The last one had been pretty easy to subdue, but damn, that bitch could punch. Hence the nose, the tampon, and Johnny’s snickering.  
He was thankfully absent as I walked in. I scanned the area for the standard stuff – exits, people, etc. Just as I suspected: a garage. Nothing particularly heinous.  
A grunt came from nearby. “Oh, come on, baby,” a woman sighed. There, underneath that behemoth of a truck. My eyebrow quirked.  
“Uh, Claire?”  
“Under the rig!” She called, hands still working on the mechanical guts.  
I leaned against a workbench and watched as she tinkered on her back, legs poking out. “Hey, Claire. Helluva machine.”  
The Afterlife’s favorite bartender rolled out on her creeper seat and heaved herself up. “Hm, you know your shit, and you’ve got good taste.” She wiped her hands on her undone overalls before leaning against the car. “Meet Beast,” Claire smirked, one hand on her hip. “My pride and joy.” The satisfaction in her voice was not lost on me. “There’s beer in the fridge if you want any.” She gestured with a tilt of her head and my eyes flicked briefly to the minifridge in the corner, softly humming with electricity.  
Beer was not my thing, but it was nice of her to offer. “Thanks.” I met her eyes, appreciating the strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail. “So what’s this about?”  
She looked me up and down and studied me for half a beat. “I need a driver.” She gestured vaguely in my direction. “Thought you might do.”  
“Driver, huh? With you as my navigator?” Driving was simple enough, and she made the right choice picking a Nomad. Well, ex-Nomad. Though chauffeuring was usually lower stakes than my regular work. Unless she was planning, you know, a heist. She shook her head.  
“Nah, not exactly. This kinda racin’ involves drivers and gunners.”  
Ah. Racing.  
“So,” I crossed my arms, “you a turret guru or a driver’s ed dropout?”  
“I’m more of an engine tuner – good at it, too.” A hint of a smirk colored her voice. “And I shoot, but I’m not rally racer. I trust you’re capable behind the wheel?”  
I chuckled. “You know, any other Nomad might take offense to that. But yeah, been drivin’ since I could reach the peddles. This won’t be your first time out, will it?”  
Claire snorted, though it wasn’t aggravating like Johnny’s sardonic snorts. “Don’t worry. Done my fair share a’ rounds.” I didn’t doubt it – she oozed an admirable air of confidence and take-no-shit. An aura, Misty would say. A badass aura.  
I smirked. “And your last driver? They quit?”  
Ah shit, I said something wrong. Evident by sudden tension in the air and the way the hand that wasn’t on her hip clenched into a fist. She looked around the shop – at anything but me. “In a way,” she said softly. Terse. “Died in a race a year back.”  
Good information to know. I still felt like an ass for bringing it up. In an effort not to say anything stupid, I let the silence hang around for a beat as I thought it over. A dangerous race, eh? With Claire packing iron and me behind the wheel. Definitely different than my other gigs. “Sure,” I said, standing up straight, arms still crossed. “Why the hell not. I’ll be your driver.”  
Claire perked up immediately and started gesticulating animatedly. “Okay, we got four races. First one’s in City Center. That’ll be followed by the Badlands and Santo, then Watson to finish.”  
Her excitement was palpable, and I couldn’t help but smile. “There a carrot we’re chasin’ after?” If pretty women alone could pay the rent, I would be set. But, alas, Nibbles needed food and I needed money to buy it with.  
“First place gets a payout. That happens, we split it fifty-fifty. Sound fair?” She gave me another appraising look.  
I nodded. “Got goosebumps already. When do we start?” Only a few gigs scheduled for the next week or so – another call could come in at any time, however. And if it was another fixer begging me to buy a car, I was going to drive said car off a cliff.  
Claire explained the qualifying ladder we needed to climb in order to reach the finals: top three in at least two rallies. I wasn’t cocky, I didn’t know if I could promise first place every damn race. But I would definitely give it my all, and top three was doable. Very doable. In fact, the idea of flying down the road, burning some rubber, the thrill of speed… I was giddy already. It was also a chance to spend time with someone other than a fixer, Misty, Vik, or the insufferable prick that lived in my head.  
They were set to meet in City Center for the first race. “I’ll snap you the specifics. Hear the roar of overtuned monsters – that’s the place,” she grinned with an excited revelry.  
I laughed and shook her hand before pulling away and heading to the door. “I’ll see you there.”  
“V?”  
“Yeah?”  
“There’s blood on your chin.”


	2. City Center

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let the games begin.

Sweat oozed from my pores as I finished my workout. My skin was a billion degrees, and I was trying to catch my breath, hands on my legs. My thighs were screaming from exertion and fuck, a netrunner ice bath didn’t sound too bad for once.   
I peeled off my gym clothes right there in the living room. Johnny was leaning against the window and looking out over the city. Nibbles was on the window sill next to him, quietly observing the cars on the street below. A cigarette dangled from Johnny’s lips and he flicked his eyes over to me.   
“Damn, shawty. You couldn’t even walk a few feet to the bathroom before flashing me?”  
I rolled my eyes, bundling my sweaty clothes into a missile and launching it at him. They landed almost in the basket. “I pay good money for this apartment. I walked around naked before you started gnawing at my head, and I’ll walk around naked after this damn chip is removed.” Or, I’d be dead and it wouldn’t matter, but I kept that to myself. “Besides, big bad Johnny Silverhand can’t handle some titties?”   
He puffed out some imaginary smoke and flashed me a shit-eating grin before I padded into the bathroom. “I can handle some tits, V. Why don’t I come in there and show you?”  
Fuckin’ ew. “I’m way out of your league, shawty.” I turned the handle and the shower gurgled to life. The hot water felt amazing on my sore muscles. Didn’t help with the overheating, of course, but I’d cool down once I was clean.   
Unfortunately sharing a head with someone meant that I could hear him crystal clear wherever I was. “Oh, right, how could I forget,” he said mordantly. “Maybe you should call up Claire to come help you scrub off instead. Bet she’d get you real clean.”  
Shit. I needed to buy more shampoo. There was only so much good I could do by refilling the bottle with water and shaking it up for, like, a third time. When even was the last time I had gone to the store? (The weaponries I frequented, unfortunately, did not carry hygiene products of any sort.)  
I washed the grease out of my green hair and mulled over Johnny’s taunts. “I don’t know. Could happen. I’ll see her tonight at the race.” The blue at the tips of my hair was starting to fade. Just another thing to add to my to-do list.   
Most people would probably be more flustered by having a stranger living in their head and making snotty, inappropriate comments at them all day. Let alone a crude, surly, motherfuckin’ terrorist that constantly referenced his dick. Plus, as he could see my memories, I also had to sit through his. That’s how I found out he likes to make eye contact with himself in the mirror while he fucks. Pompous brat.   
But truth be told, I didn’t really mind his ribbing. I liked our banter, actually. And yes, the entire situation with the relic fucking sucked more than I could eloquently express. Yes, he did crack my head against my goddamn window the first time he popped up, even pushed me around a little. Told me to stick a gun in my mouth and all that. His reputation as the Worst™ wasn’t so far off. But, yeah, I liked him now. And he’d never admit it, but he liked me too.   
I toweled myself off, slapped a fresh coat of deodorant on my pits, and strolled over to my closet to get dressed. Nothing too flashy: black jeans, a faded t-shirt, my beloved bomber jacket, and steel toed boots. Not too dissimilar to Johnny’s fashion, but can I say? Punk rock is punk rock, baby.  
Johnny had moved from the window and was sprawled out on the couch. Douchebag even wore sunglasses inside. 

\--  
The race was not hard to find. I rolled up in Delemain Jr, blocks away from where I needed to be. My beloved car son was a far cry from the tricked-out rides revving their engines. It was a good thing I had insisted on the Beast, because I would have felt really, really badly if the sentient taxi got crushed or exploded. I thanked him and patted his truck, sending him home to the Megabuilding garage.   
The street was bustling with racers and groupies alike. I had called Claire not even ten minutes ago to tell her I was on my way, but I couldn’t spot her immediately. The big ass truck I was about to drive in was easily visible, though, so I made my way over there.   
“Hey look, Sampson.” I glanced over to the woman a few feet away that had just spoken. Where could I buy a glowing bra like that? She was talking to some guy that was trying way too hard to look important. The woman made eye contact with me. “Fresh meat.”   
The guy, Sampson apparently, angled his sunglasses (at night? Ugh) my way to size. “Hmph. It’d be embarrassing to lose to a rookie.”   
I kept walking, hands in my pockets, as Glow-Bra assured him: “Chill. Gonk will probably crash out on the first bend.”   
Not fucking likely.   
Claire was leaning against the concrete sidewalk railing. She looked totally at ease – amused, even. “Hey, V! Good to see you!” She smiled with a little wave. “So, how’s it look to you?”  
I shrugged. “I’ll give you my take once we cross the finish line… Provided we arrive in one piece.”   
“Hey now,” she chuckled, “focus on winning!”  
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll go heavy on the throttle. NC badges okay with this?” Illegal street racing was, well, illegal, but I had seen plenty of officers standing around. Two of them were even taking bets.   
Claire gestured over to the crowd. “NC badges can’t see a problem around the stack of eddies put in front of them.”   
Okay, fair enough. “Solve every problem, don’t they, eddies?” Corruption? In our Night City? It’s more likely than you think. A pig is a pig is a pig, after all.  
“Mmhmm,” she agreed, scanning the cars and racers again.  
I leaned on the railing next to her. Racing was one thing, but Claire was riding shotgun for a reason (pun intended). It was gonna get nasty out there, I could feel it, and I was keener on cashing in other peoples’ warrants, not my own. “No consequences for corpses in these races?”  
She shook her head. Her ponytail was so effortlessly, flawlessly messy. How soft was her hair? “Cops don’t care who dies. They just funnel the data through their accident reports.”  
My eyebrow quirked. “A bullet to the brain counts as a traffic fatality?”  
“Depends on the street.”  
I rolled my neck to ease some of the tension there. “Well, any tips before we roll?”  
She made eye contact, face serious. “Don’t take your foot off the CH00H. My job’ll be to slow everyone else down.” She pushed herself off the wall and I followed. She crossed her arms and smiled, nodding towards the Beast. “Ultimately, it’ll be speed – not firepower – that’ll win us this race.”   
“Drive fast, eat ass. Got it.”  
She humored me with a laugh before handing me a shard with the route on it. Visible directions beamed straight to my Kiroshis. Good thing, too. I was not the best with spur-of-the-moment directions, and missing a checkpoint meant disqualification.  
Claire clapped me on the shoulder, and we headed over to the rig. It was quite literally a step up from Delemain Jr. but at least I had driven similarly huge vehicles back with the family. I ran my hands over the wheel, getting a feel for the leather. I admired the trans flag painted on the dashboard as Claire got comfy in her seat and double-checked her assault rifle. Bullets galore were stored at her feet, ready to chip some paint and crack some windows.   
The street cleared out pretty quickly after that. Spectators retreated behind the barricades set up on the sidelines, cheering and taking pictures. I could hear the announcer clearly, even if I couldn’t see him.   
We started in the second row. Two hotrods in front of us, another big rig to our left. Two other cars behind us. Four people wouldn’t be hard to beat. I let out a breath to steady my nerves and fiddled with the mirror. Claire winked at me before looking back out the window.  
“ – everyone ready?” The announcer cackled. “Not like it matters! Too late to back out anyway!” Competitors revved their engines with gusto. Claire nudged me and I revved the Beast so hard it roared. “Strap in, pray to your gods, and get ready to go for pay dirt!”  
My retinal display flashed with the countdown in time to his words. “Three… two… one!”  
The Beast roared forward as every racer surged. We clipped the purple car that had been in front of us almost immediately, pushing them into the way of the others. The race was fucking ON.  
It was exhilarating. The lights of the city blurring past, the pandemonium of each competitor trying to pull forward as bullets flew, and Claire’s delighted cackle whenever she squeezed off a particularly good shot. My heart was pounding and, for the first time in a long time, I felt alive.   
My intense focus on the road was the only thing keeping me from laughing maniacally. Checkpoint after checkpoint flew by and we were in the lead. “Sharp turn ahead, V!”  
Claire may have told me to keep my foot on the gas, but the secret to a smooth turn was to ease up just before, get the vehicle in the direction you want, and slam down that pedal again. Little Nomad trick, I guess.  
The turn was smooth, almost picturesque as we safely rounded the corner.  
Until the dumbass tailing us crashed full tilt into the Beast’s ass.   
A deafening crunch sounded and we were thrown to the side as the truck was forced to spin. Other cars whizzed by, tires squealing as they tried to avoid the same fate. There went our fucking lead.  
Claire screamed out of frustration and slammed on the door. “God fucking damn it! We won’t even make top three!”  
“Have a little faith in me, babe,” I growled. Our behemoth wasn’t damaged enough to stop just yet. I slammed into reverse and we lurched backward, in the direction we had to go. There wasn’t enough room to turn around yet, so flying ass-first it was.   
“Brace yourself!” I turned the wheel hard and we spun again. I cranked it into drive and off we went – facing forward. My foot was practically glued to the floor. Five checkpoints left.  
My co-pilot wasted no time spraying bullets at car she could. We overtook fourth place and left a gonk upside down and on fire. “Come on,” I hissed to myself. “Almost fucking there.”  
The three cars in front of us were in a close herd, but we were gaining on them fast. Overtook third place on the curve of the twenty-ninth checkpoint. It was practically a straight shot from there. “We did it, V, we made it to the top three!” Claire yelled, chest heaving as she caught her breath.  
“Don’t quit on me now, we’re gonna win, dammit! Hit their tires!”  
She nodded, shooting at the wheels of the two cars in front of us. They were reinforced, not measly civilian rubber, but the shots and our ever-increasing speed gave me the edge we needed.   
Clocking in at a whopping 161 miles per hour, I drove the Beast right over the competition and, seconds later, the finish line.   
“V and Claire – our victors! What did we just see?!”  
I took my foot off the CH00H, finally, and started to slow down. Blood was still roaring in my ears. Jesus, adrenaline was hell of a drug.   
“We fucking won! First place!” Incredulous and elated, Claire punched my arm. I laughed and let the car groan to a stop.   
I sat back and tried to calm my damn heart down. “Hey, you sound surprised.”  
She shook her head and sat back with me. “First fuckin’ place!” She realized she was still yelling and switched to her inside voice. “It’s not that I’m surprised, it’s just…”  
“I know,” I teased. “First place. I was there too.”  
We climbed out and the crisp night air hit me. Delicious, cold air, still stinking of exhaust and fire. I sucked it through my nostrils as people hovered around us excitedly.  
The two drivers behind us were already out of their cars – a little flatter than they had started. One was that Sampson prick from earlier. Johnny glitched into view, casually leaning against Beast as I walked around the side. “Guess he lost to a rookie after all.”  
“Poor baby,” I agreed. I had to stop myself from speaking aloud. My words would be lost in the noise anyway, but I didn’t need anyone looking at me funny. I came to Claire’s side as she talked nonchalantly with some guy waving a camera around. The excitement still simmered beneath her skin. I could practically feel it.  
“This is V,” she said proudly, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. Which, I think, was bruised from her passionate punch a few moments ago. “My new driver. I think we make a pretty good team, don’t you?”  
“Yeah,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sitting through this chapter -- i have no idea how to write intriguing race content (which I should probably learn, given the nature of this fic). Please take a second to leave a comment if you're able! They fuel me   
> It's a slow burn, folks. I promise they'll actually start, ya know, flirting more soon.  
> And yeah I reloaded a billion times until I got first place, don't @ me


End file.
